


the sweet blood (oh, how it sings)

by hurryup



Category: D.Gray-man
Genre: Cannibalism, Horror Elements, M/M, Religious Imagery & Symbolism
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-05-01
Updated: 2017-05-01
Packaged: 2018-10-26 04:27:22
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,270
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10779561
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/hurryup/pseuds/hurryup
Summary: "In the Catholic tradition, consuming the body is a sacred act of communion. You take the essence of the Saviour and turn it inwards; from there, he works his holiness inside of you, and you are elevated. But there are other stories, too, about communing with the body. Ones less pleasant."Neah grinned wickedly.





	the sweet blood (oh, how it sings)

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Peadles](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Peadles/gifts).



Organ meats, Link knew, were not as popular as chunk or flank cuts. This was a reality due more to social taboo than quality or flavour. In fact, in Link's experience, beef or lamb heart could make for a superb cut of meet. Though heart was a fatty, muscular cut and by nature difficult to excoriate, Link knew the meat would become gorgeously tender when browned and slow-cooked with root vegetables. When sliced into steaks, heart also made for excellent braising, though the lack of well-marbled fat meant it was best served medium to bloody. Best of all, heart was also fairly cheap and easy to procure.  
  
The cut beneath Link's knife, however, had come at a price too high for his liking.

 

 _Had it been Link's choice, he'd have selected an abandoned cabin or, if need be, a nearby inn as their hideaway of choice. Being on the run, however, did not afford them pickiness, and Neah was more than ready to dispatch violence to get what he wanted._  
  
_Neah had the proprietor of the house they were occupying pinned to the ground beneath his thighs, a position that might have been suggestive had it not been for the knife in Neah's human hand. Link was watching from the far end of the living room, back pressed against the wall, observing with distaste but knowing it was not his place to interrupt._

 

Link washed his hands, first, splashing water on his face when his stomach roiled with nerves. Losing his nerve now wouldn't do now, not while he had already committed to the task. He poured himself a glass of water, washed his knife, and lit the stove fire. He undid and retied his hair for good measure, taking measured breaths as he steeled himself to tackle the clean, fresh meat resting at the center of his cutting board.  
  
Neah, seated on the other end of the kitchen at the table, watched Link pace in a rare silence. It was hardly a considerate silence, though. Rather, it was indulgent. Amused. Predatory in its patience. His eyes never left Link. Not once. In fact, he only seemed to grow more intently interested when Link withdrew his knife and positioned himself at the edge of the counter, eager to watch Link get to work on a particularly momentous meal.  
  
He wasn't just observing the creation of a meal, Link knew. He was overseeing the execution of an order.  
  
(An unfortunate choice of words, execution.)

Link decided he'd probably be better off ignoring Neah. The task ahead of him would be unpleasant enough without troubling himself over Neah's happy madness.

 

 _Neah's hand lifted it like a scalpel to sit beside his fingers on the proprietor's skin, blade poised to make a vertical incision. The razor edge sliced through the skin from the xiphoid process below the bottom ridge of his victim's ribcage to his navel. The eschew of blood from that vast, ruthless slash was incredible._  
  
_One hand still holding the dying man's bucking body by the shoulder, Neah tossed the scalpel aside. He took a moment to admire his work. A long moment, but not too long. That would spoil his fun. Neah plunged his freed hand down inside the gaping wound, fist leaving a hideous lump beneath the intact flesh._  
  
_"What are you doing?" Link said._  
  
_"Isn't it obvious?" Neah said. "I'm taking a trophy."_

 

Link took a deep breath, gripped the hilt of his knife, and went to work.  
  
Heart was a meat that required careful preparation before cooking. This was something Link knew from past experience, though he'd never cooked one of this species. It was about the same size as a beef heart, though, and would most likely benefit from the same treatment.  
  
Using a thin, sharp knife, he cut the silvery skin that covered the surface, then worked to remove as much visible fat as possible from the outer surface. With the edge, he split the heart open butterfly-style, and went to work emptying it of all remaining connective tissue— an unpleasant task. There was a taut stringiness to the ventricles and valve flaps, and much of the interior was still filled with viscous, lukewarm blood. The coppery scent struck Link as a sort of grim reminder. It called him to remember that the slab of meat kneaded beneath his fingertips had once beat on and on to provide some ill-fated creature life.  
  
There is no survival without sacrifice, Link thought. Tonight's sacrifice had not been of his own choosing, but he would imbibe it regardless and make it his strength. He was not in the habit of turning away food.  
  
Or orders, for that matter.

 

_This sight of Neah's fingers writhing beneath the flesh was enough to push Link to the point of physical illness. He averted his eyes hastily, knowing he would be punished for it later. Neah had monstrously little patience for squeamishness._

_Link realized, then, that the man's gasps and cries had, one by one, died out. Neah was, for all intents and purposes, fishing around in a corpse. The sounds of ragged gasps and prayers was replaced by an almost fire-like cracking. Link did not have to glance back to decipher it. Neah was extending his victim's ribcage, twisting bone apart as he hunted out the prized diamond inside. Buried to the elbow in blood, drenching his front in tar-black blood, he was excavating a rare and most treasured delicacy: the human heart._

 

The house they were occupying had come with a decently stocked wine cellar, so Link decided on braised heart in a red wine sauce with seasonal vegetables. He cleaned the heart out quietly, water cascading over his hands and carrying the blood down into the basin. Sliced it. Dredged it in flour, salt, and pepper. Heated butter in the sauce pan.  
  
The steaks sizzled beautifully when he pressed them into the pan. He stirred in broth, mushrooms, and red wine, and the aroma of cooking meat came to life all throughout the room. This was a rich aroma, heavy, a little gamey, crackling savoury-sweet with butter and oil.

It was absolutely mouth-watering.  
  
It was enough to make a man sick.

 

 _"Stop this," Link said. "He's dead. At this point, you're... you're only making a mess."_  
  
_Just making meat._  
  
_"Somehow, I imagined this would be easier," Neah murmured, sounding faraway. He continued to claw through his victim's ribcage, sopping hands sliding over gut and entrail with a liquid glide. "God, it's so hard to hold on to. It keeps... slipping."_  
  
_"Then stop," Link hissed._  
  
_"But I'm so close, Link," Neah said, half teasing, half keening in anticipation. "I've almost got it, I'm so close."_  
  
_There was a loud, wet pop; the sound of something disconnecting. Link bit his lip and counted to ten, steadying himself. Neah had ripped his prize free._  
  
_"Oh, Link. You're going to want to see this."_

 

Link was in the middle of chopping parano carrots when he realized something that gone horribly, horribly wrong. It took him a moment to realize what it was.

Neah's presence, the murderous resonance of his _qi_ , had faded.  
  
And that could only mean one thing.  
  
"Link?" Allen said. His voice was strangely dim and faraway, like he was slowly coming out a dream. He put his face in his hands and blinked hard, as if summoning himself to reality. At first, he looked bewildered. Then, a cold understanding settled in. That same understanding was forming a freezing base at the center of Link's stomach. "I... oh, God."  
  
"Allen," Link managed. For a flash, his lips pulled back as he grit his teeth, momentarily mired in a heady panic. Link felt trapped, terrified— he was paralyzed where he stood, knife hovering over the vegetables.  
  
A tumult of emotion exploded inside of him; shock, suspicion, yearning, fear, and most powerfully of all,  _shame_.  
  
_Allen,_ Link thought helplessly. It took everything inside of him not to cringe openly, or let his teeth pull back in a grimace. _Please. No._  
  
"How long has it been?" Allen asked, coming to resurface. His eyes focused in on Link, and Link noted he was taking stock of his surroundings.  
  
It was almost funny. Link sometimes went days at a time longing to hear the sound of Allen's voice again, and now that he had it, he wanted nothing more than to run from it.  
  
Neah had ceded control to Allen intentionally, Link realized. This was a test. This was the test, Neah's ultimate test of loyalty. Neah, riding passenger behind Allen's eyes, was undoubtedly watching him now. Link could feel the vague outline of his presence, a hidden third party. He was judging Link's response, and he would allow no room for error.  
  
"It's been a day and a half since you last had control," Link said neutrally. He forced his eyes back to the counter top and, as best as he could manage, returned to chopping the vegetables. Once he was finished with the carrots, he moved on to the shallots immediately. The steady, soothing beat of his knife felt like the only thing keeping him sane.  
  
"That long?" There was a slight, wooden groan as Allen shifted in his seat. "Are we in... a house? Where—"  
  
"We are, at present, resting in a cottage several miles outside Brussels," Link told him. "We managed to escape to here despite both the Noah and the Order pursuit." Kanda and Johnny's pursuit, too, Link declined to mention. It was possible, however, that the two of them were still hunting Link and Neah out even now. Perhaps Allen would find some way to rendezvous with them, provided he could hang on to control for long enough.  
  
"Is it abandoned?"  
  
"The proprietor," Link said, thinking of the mangled corpse he'd dragged into the basement, "is on holiday at the moment."  
  
"Oh," Allen said. The chair creaked again, this time more loudly. Link glanced back nervously, and saw that Allen was coming up behind him slowly. "What are you making?"  
  
Link's gaze slid away reluctantly.  
  
"Wine-braised steak."  
  
"Ah," Allen said. He rubbed at his eyes with the balls of his hands, a weak smile fluttering to his lips. He looked defeated, the way he always did when he woke to find he'd lost control. "You know, I've never really seen you cook before."  
  
"Don't be ridiculous," Link demurred. "You've seen me cook a hundred times."  
  
"I've seen you bake a hundred times," Allen pointed out. He was standing right next to Link now, elbow bumping against Link's arm as he watched, eyes jumping between Link's busy hands and the meat sizzling over the stove top. "This is different. I actually thought you might be a vegetarian."  
  
"Self-imposed dietary restrictions are not particularly practical in times of war," Link said. Then, because that sounded mechanical even to him, he conceded, "I do prefer to bake, it's true. But I don't mind cooking either, when the moment calls for it."  
  
"Well. It smells heavenly," Allen smiled weakly.  
  
Link thought that this was perhaps the cruelest thing Neah could have done. Pursing his lips, he scooped the carrots and shallots up in his hands and dropped them in with the steaks to sear.  
  
"Is there anything I can do to help?" Allen pressed on quietly.  
  
For all of Link's betrayal, Allen still just wanted to be close to him. Link's pulse quickened.  
  
_Ifyouknewifyouknewifyouknewifyouknew—_  
  
"You... can help me with the salad," Link said vaguely.  
  
They settled into an easy if someone somber routine. Allen chopped the cucumber at Link's shoulder, slower and a little sloppier than Link would have done himself, while Link julienned the broccoli stalks and sliced tomatoes.  
  
Back at the Order, Allen had used to help Link cook, too. It was usually just to stave off boredom, but he'd actually seemed to enjoy it; cracking and whisking eggs under Link's command, patiently kneading dough while Link executed the more complicated steps. It had been nice. Really nice. The conversation, the help, the way Allen's nose wrinkled when he was wiping a spatter of flour off of his face...  
  
There was no conversation now, no laughter. But it seemed to be enough for Allen, that they could still have this much. Allen finished the first cucumber and started peeling a second. Link mixed the prepared vegetables in the bowl, went to work on a creamy balsamic, and then stopped to turn over the meat.

Had it not been for the guilt rotting away at Link's mind, he supposed that this would be nice, too.

 

 _Link turned his head reluctantly to look at Neah, still curled up on his knees, and the glimmering heart nestled in the palm of one hand. It shone brilliantly beneath the light of the oil lamps._  
  
_"That's disgusting," Link said unthinkingly._  
  
_"It's warm," Neah said. A tone of fascination had crept into his voice, one that bordered on reverence. Link's disgust amplified tenfold, edging into the territory of outright revulsion._  
  
_"You're disgusting," Link amended. He crossed his arms a little more tightly, walling himself off. Neah's lips curled into a grin that was partly a grimace._  
  
_"For a servant, you're pretty lippy."_

 

Allen's hand touched Link's shoulder. Link startled.  
  
"You're shaking," he said. His voice was unbearably gentle. Touch light. Beautiful. Horrific. Link didn't deserve Allen's comfort. He hadn't done a goddamn thing to buy himself any such kindness.  
  
"I'm sorry," Link said, unthinkingly. _I'm so sorry. Sorry for what I have done. Sorry for what I am about to do._  
  
"Link, it's alright."  
  
Link shook his head, crossing the kitchen reluctantly to mix the dressing into the salad. Parting from Allen's sweet, absolving touch was a torment, but a necessary one.  
  
It wasn't alright. Not by a long shot.  
  
Allen stood with his back to the counter, watching Link move without speaking. Without interrupting him.  
  
Leverrier would not lead me astray, Link thought, fighting tooth and nail to keep himself calm. Leverrier would not issue me a wrong order.

 

 _Link huffed, gaze wandering away once more, unsettled by the sight of so much blood over Allen's body; Neah wasn't just spattered, he was_ soaked _._  
  
_"I am pledged to support you," Link said, contrite, "but I will not share in this... senseless violence."_  
  
_Neah hummed, considering this._  
  
_"I won't deny I'm violent. But nothing I do is senseless, Link." There was something dangerous in Neah's tone. Something that drew Link's eyes back to him. Neah's eyes were glittering darkly, staring down at the still organ in his hands with the righteous satisfaction of a young god. "Let's have a little conversation, Link."_

 

He removed the steaks from the pan and let them to sit on the cutting board. They steamed gently. Allen's eyes shone with unabashed hunger, but he didn't whine or beg or nick scraps like he might have if the mood allowed for it.  
  
Well, Link's order was to get close to the Fourteenth. To earn his loyalty. A decent end in itself, Link was sure, if Leverrier had sanctioned it personally. If that was the case, if Link had to commit a few sins to reach that end, could he be pardoned? Were they justifiable as for the greater good? Would his soul be safe? And when Link made his transformation, would he find himself in the court of the angels, or wearing the skin of a beast?  
  
"Am I doing the right thing?" Link asked out loud. Then, regretting his weakness, "Don't answer that."  
  
Allen gave him a long, pensive look. He looked tired, Link thought. Tired and lonely.  
  
"I don't know if you're doing the right thing, but I think you want to do the right thing."  
  
"Is that really enough?" Link said, asking both Allen as well as Neah, who was surely gloating in the result of this game from wherever he was watching from.  
  
"I don't know," Allen replied, not unkindly. "It should be."  
  
Link asked Allen to set the table with cutlery, and so he did. Link moved, agonized, to prepare two plates. Two cuts of steak, drowned in wine and served over seared vegetables with the creamy salad accompaniment. They looked great. A perfect, summery sort of dinner.  
  
Allen, beautiful in his ignorance, took a seat at one end of the table. Link, feeling sick to his stomach, set the plates down on the table. It was the only answer to Neah's puzzle.  
  
"You don't have to look at me like that. I don't blame you, you know. You're only following orders," Allen said. He twirled his fork in between his fingers. "Aiding the Fourteenth is your duty as a Crow. I understand that."  
  
He'd correctly pinpointed the source of Link's distress as guilt. However, he'd misinterpreted the particular circumstances surrounding said guilt, though the proof was sitting in front of him, plain as day. Link stared down at his food.  
  
It would be nice if there was a reality where he could cook for Allen again without so much pain and unspoken heartbreak. And it would be nice if Allen could laugh again, licking batter from the spoon and making idle chitchat, and it would be very nice if Link lived in a universe where he could lean over and kiss Allen and taste the sugar and flour between them. It would be nice, were there any such universe.  
  
At the end of the day, Link was still Leverrier's consummate dog. He was bound, leash and all, to everything that entailed.  
  
Neah would surely be delighted when he returned.  
  
"I hope you know," Link said quietly, to Allen, to Neah, to God, to Leverrier, "this isn't what I wanted."  
  
"I know," Allen said. "You don't need to worry about it."  
  
Allen cut into his food and took a bite. Link watched, mesmerized, as it disappeared beyond the pink of Allen's lips, flesh tearing against his teeth, throat bobbing as he swallowed. Allen hummed, then smiled softly. Link's last damnation.

 

_"In the Catholic tradition, consuming the body is a sacred act of communion. You take the essence of the Saviour and turn it inwards; from there, he works his holiness inside you, and you are elevated. But there are other stories, too, about communing with the body. Ones less pleasant."_

_Neah grinned, wickedly._  
  
_"When I was a little boy, my mother used to tell me such stories to frighten me. She told me of the Wendigos, mountain-men who resorted to cannibalism. As punishment for their sins, they were stripped of their humanity and transformed into hideous, flesh-hungry beasts."_  
  
_Neah's grip tightened, the nails of his Innocence hand digging into the surface of the heart._  
  
_"I'm headed down a dark path, Link. A path from which there is no return. If you're going to be my ally, I need you to prove to me you're willing to follow me through those darkest of places. A test of loyalty, if you will."_  
  
_"I... have no idea what you're talking about," Link said._  
  
_There was a hunger in Neah's eyes. The kind that had nothing to do with food or sex or even violence. It was synapse-deep. Soul-deep._  
  
_"What I'm saying," Neah said, "is that I want you to undergo a transformation with me, Link. And I hear you're a pretty good cook."_

 

"This is great," Allen said sincerely.  
  
"Thank you," Link choked out, meaning to sound polite but only managing to betray his own unhappiness. To avoid Allen's eyes, he busied himself with his own food, cutting into the meat. He took a bite. Then another. Then another, until he was no longer at risk of throwing up in his mouth. 

**Author's Note:**

> hurryupfic @ tumblr  
> fuckhowardlink @ twitter
> 
> the bloodborne + hannibal homage i've been wanting to write since forever. written for the "cooking together" prompt for linkllen week. you can lead a content creator to water, but you sure can't make her drink.


End file.
